


Kyrie Eleison

by draculard



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Altar Boy!Morty, Choking, Dom Morty Smith, Dubious Consent, Inappropriate Use of Candles, M/M, Priest Kink, Sub Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Rick made a holy vow when he became a priest.Morty didn't.





	Kyrie Eleison

“H-heavenly Father,” Father Rick intoned from the pulpit. He could see his hellion of an acolyte, Morty Smith, smirking at him from the corner of his eyes. Father Rick struggled to remember the rest of the prayer and then gave up, hanging his head with a muttered curse. “Goddammit, M-Morty, can’t you just--”

Morty spread his legs slowly, and Father Rick froze, watching him. The boy’s white robe had been hitched up over his knees, and he wasn’t wearing trousers underneath.

“Morty,” Father Rick breathed, averting his eyes, “w-what--”

“Aw, come on, Rick,” Morty said. As usual, he refused to use Father Rick’s title. “You know you want to.”

Father Rick turned away abruptly, heat rising to his face. He tried to concentrate on the open Bible before him and couldn’t. The empty pews before him seemed to echo with ghostly, accusatory glares. “I’m trying to practice here, Morty,” he said. “I don’t have time for your -- your, uh--”

He didn’t want to say anything to do with the word ‘seduction,’ but that was all he could think of. Father Rick closed his eyes. Children were innocents. They couldn’t seduce, they couldn’t be sexual -- but that was exactly what Morty had been doing ever since he showed up for service six months ago and donned the lace-hemmed alb of an altar boy.

He’d caught Morty alone in the Sacristy once, robes piled up above his naked waist with a half-burnt Eucharistic candle in his hand. He’d worked it into his ass with his eyes shut, moaning lewdly and undulating his hips, like he didn’t care if the congregation could hear. And when Father Rick had choked out his name, Morty’s eyes slid open and he deposited the candle in a trash can in the corner, re-adjusting his robes like nothing had happened. There wasn’t even a hint of a blush on his face afterward; not a single sign of shame.

Perhaps that was innocence, Father Rick mused. To be wholly ignorant of your sins.

But the whole thing gave him the creeps. Father Rick had never had sex, never even masturbated -- he had denied himself long before he took on priesthood. Part of that was a natural aversion to sex that had nothing to do with God, but part of it was … well, how could any devout Catholic boy indulge in fantasies when those fantasies involved other boys?

For years, he’d successfully repressed all that. But now it was all coming back to the surface, and all because of some flirtatious 14-year-old altar boy.

“M-Morty,” Father Rick said. He stared down at his hands, clutching the edge of the pulpit so hard his knuckles were white. “Put your robe back down.”

Languidly, Morty dropped his robe. He looked at Father Rick with hooded eyes, his ever-present smirk playing over his lips.

“I know you want me,” he said.

“J-Jeez, Morty,” Father Rick muttered. He turned away from Morty entirely, trying to figure out what to say, what to do. But before he could come to a decision, a pair of small, strong hands had encircled his wrists and pinned his arms behind his back. “Wha--” Father Rick started, but Morty swung him around and slammed him against the altar.

Father Rick’s vision turned to stars. He blinked furiously and tried to break his hands free from Morty’s grasp, but he was being pressed against the altar too tightly to escape.

“M-Morty, what are you--” Father Rick said.

“Shut up, Rick,” Morty said. He kicked Father Rick in the back of the knees and he went down hard, his chin slamming against the hard surface of the altar. With one hand, Morty removed Father Rick’s rope cincture and used it to tie his wrists together behind his back. He leaned close to Father Rick, his lips brushing Rick’s ear.

“I’d like to choke you with this,” he whispered, fingering the purple stole draped over Father Rick’s shoulders. Father Rick found himself trembling; his limbs suddenly felt weak, and he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the altar boy. “It would look so pretty with your pale skin,” Morty said. “Bruises on your neck…”

In one harsh movement he pulled the stole free. Father Rick gasped, and then the stole was wrapped tightly around his neck. There was a split second where he could still breathe, and he inhaled desperately, but then the stole was too tight and he was suffocating.

 _Surely he’ll let go soon_ , Father Rick thought, light-headed. The boy wouldn’t really murder him, would he?

But the seconds ticked by, and Morty didn’t let go. Father Rick struggled, unable to break free from the tassels around his wrists, powerless to dislodge Morty from his back. His lungs burned and his vision greyed; panic surged through him, but there was nothing he could do. This had gone on far too long to just be some sick joke -- the boy was going to kill him, and Father Rick had barely put up a fight.

He was on the edge of oblivion when Morty let go of the stole. Father Rick fell forward against the altar, sucking down deep breaths. There was a cool hand against his throat, touching the raw, red stripe left by the stole.

“Yeah,” Morty breathed. “That’s a good look on you, Rick.” He dropped the stole to the floor and kicked it away, leaning against Father Rick’s back. He could feel the boy’s erection pressing against him, remembered that he was naked under his robes, and suddenly it was hard to breathe again.

“Please,” Father Rick said. It came out as a hoarse croak, wrenched through the needles lining his esophagus.

Morty wrapped his arms around Father Rick, pushing his lace-edged surplice out of the way. His fingers found their way through the opening in Father Rick’s robe, to the zipper of his black pants.

“I’m gonna take you right here on the altar,” Morty murmured, pressing his lips against Father Rick’s ragged neck. Father Rick flinched, hunching his shoulders, but Morty was undeterred. He groped Father Rick through his pants, his grip too tight to be anything but painful.

“Y-you can’t do this,” Father Rick said. “I-I made a vow.”

Deftly, Morty undid Father Rick’s zipper. “I didn’t,” he said lightly, taking Father Rick’s cock in hand. He pushed Father Rick’s robes up in the back and yanked down his boxers -- the front doors were unlocked, and anyone walking in would see Father Rick pressed against the altar, practically nude.

There was no preparation, no warning. Morty was not a gentle boy -- he had a cruel streak, and Father Rick had known this right from the start, but he never thought he’d find himself in this position. The boy’s cock couldn’t have been that large, not at his age, but it felt like a fiery skewer. The pain as he forced himself into Rick was incredible, unimaginable.

“God, you’re tight,” Morty hissed. He put a hand on the back of Father Rick’s neck, smashing his face against the altar. “I bet this is your first time, isn’t it?”

Father Rick said nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He could feel tears welling up, strangely cold compared to the fire taking over his body.

“You think God is watching us?” Morty asked. There was a smile in his voice. He thrust into Father Rick again and again, his cock spearing through the older man, leaving him raw and bleeding. The candles on the altar rocked from the force of Morty’s hips against Rick’s; when Father Rick cracked open his eyes, he saw one of the candles fall and roll to the ground.

And, treacherously, against all odds, Father Rick felt himself hardening. The pain of Morty’s cock teasing in and out of his hole had started to feel almost pleasurable, until he was unconsciously rolling his hips back, seeking the pressure, the spark that turned pain into delight. Morty’s hips were like the crack of a whip on his back, and if there was anything Father Rick knew, it was that Catholics craved pain.

He swallowed hard, just to feel the crash of nerve endings in his throat. Morty’s fingers twisted in his hair, grinding his face into the altar, and Rick’s cock twitched at the burst of pain.

 _Harder_ , he thought, and felt a rush of shame wash over him. _Harder_. _Please_.

Morty seemed to be swelling, hitting all the right spots in Rick’s body, teasing him every time it brushed against his prostate. Rick’s cock stiffened, flush against his belly. He’d never felt this way before, never experienced anything like this -- not with a woman, not with a man, not with a boy. He could feel the eyes of God upon him, full of judgment.

And despite the shame, underneath the frenetic prayer for forgiveness running constantly through Rick’s head --

He liked it.

“Harder,” Rick whispered, almost inaudibly. Morty’s hips slammed into his, the pain reaching a peak. His ribs pressed against the edge of the altar, the cord around his wrist was too tight. Everything hurt, everything hurt, and --

Father Rick came. He could feel Morty softening inside him and knew he must have cum, too, but he hadn’t felt it, had been blinded by his own rapture. When Morty pulled away, Father Rick’s robe fell back down to his ankles, and he slumped away from the altar in a boneless stupor. He lay with his head against the velvet carpet, eyes shuttered.

His cum was splashed all over the altar cloth, white against purple.

 _God help me_ , Father Rick thought, closing his eyes. He heard Morty’s footsteps crossing to the Sacristy; a moment later, the door closed and he was alone, his pants around his ankles, his hands still tied.

 _God help us all_.


End file.
